it's fat pregnant shane hollander hours:))!!
(and feedism and things of that nature!)
One of the firsts times that something starts to awaken in Ilya's mind (or, a new kink starts to unlock) is during Shane's second trimester with their third baby.
Of course Ilya’s perceptive, and much more about his husband who he's very obsessed and extremely in love with, though it doesn't really take a genius to notice that Shane runs hungrier than he did before. There used to be the cravings with their first two girls, but now any meal came with the request of a bigger serving, and sometimes seconds.
When has Shane ever asked for seconds? And not just any seconds, he asks for the exact same heaping plate, full of that day's meal. And what can Ilya do but give it to him? Tell him, no Shane, one is enough? Shane could ask him for thirds and fourths and Ilya will go back to the kitchen for them!
He's just hungrier. Ilya can't say he doesn't feel fondness when he sees Shane eating. Not just eating but clearly enjoying himself while at it. He loves it, knowing that his husband's not making himself miserable with restrictive diets and calories-counting and constantly fighting to make his body into a form that naturally just doesn't come to. Because Ilya's sure that Shane was meant to be like this, chubbier. Strong muscle present still, of course, but under a healthy amount of fat. Fatness suits him, both in body and mind, and Ilya's more than happy to keep encouraging him.
Sometimes he overdoes it, though.
One of those first times happen on a romantic date between the two. The restaurant is nice, dimly, comfortably lit the way Shane appreciates, and it doesn't have two little girls constantly grabbing their attention.
They make pleasant conversation that ends up revolving around their daughters anyway (parenthood, Ilya loves it), lined with some chirping at each other because neither Ilya nor Shane would be themselves if they didn't poke at the other's buttons to see what happens.
They order, nothing out of the ordinary.
What's also becoming usual is the way Shane all but inhales his food and Ilya, for a change, still has food left in his plate.
After a few minutes, Shane picks his phone and scans the menu again, and soon he's eyeing the main courses and showing them to Ilya. And Ilya just smiles at each image, with his heart soaring from such a small act as simply wanting something else to eat, and he calls the waiter over to their table, before Shane can make up his mind about which of the two options he's been showing Ilya to choose.
Easy, Ilya mouths at him before looking up at the waiter. "We want these both. Show her, sweetheart."
Shane's face's flushed, even after he watches the waiter leave to fetch their order. “Ilya–”
Ilya grins, “Don't worry, Shane, both are for you, I know how hungry you are.”
That comment only makes Shane's face flush harder, but when both plates arrive, he gladly engulfs both meals. After, Ilya notices how Shane shifts in his seat, rubbing his hand over the rounded top of his belly as he sits back. It takes a couple of seconds for Ilya to realize that he's too full.
Shane arches and sighs, then turns his head to the side, covering his mouth with the back of a hand as he seems to want to burp, but hiccups instead, his body jostling for a second.
“Sorry,” he mutters absentmindedly, now both hands rubbing on both sides of his belly, most likely aching from the food.
(Ilya has seen Shane trying to burp or straight up burping thousands of times before, of course, but this time, for some reason, there's a treacherous jump of interest in his-)
Shane lets out a very short puff of air. He doesn't apologize for that one and instead looks up at Ilya. “What are we going to get for dessert?”
Fuck, if that doesn't make Ilya want to get up from his seat and smother Shane's beautiful chubby cheeks in kisses.
Yes, my love. He'll say between each smooch. Anything you want, all the menu if you'd like. I'll rub your belly if it starts hurting too much.
Ilya doesn't say or do that, though. He just goes through the menu alongside Shane, and suggests. And suggests, and suggests… and there's that glint in Shane's eyes, that sort of hunger that came when he was particularly overcome by a craving. When he simply needs to have it, or he won't know peace.
The next half hour consists of Shane delighting himself long after Ilya finished his own hearty dessert, opening his own mouth for a bite or two of Shane's dessert. He tells random stories to fill in the silence that came from Shane working through the little fancy plates in front of him.
By the time he's done, his breath is shorter, his discomfort clear as water and his poor, round tummy seems too distended even for his pregnant (and chubby) standards.
Shane's brow pinches in pain and Ilya's ready to get up from his chair. “Shane?” But his husband just shakes his head and gestures for him to stay put. Ilya obediently sits back again.
His husband shifts in his seat, subtly pulling on his pants, probably his waistband, which Ilya was well aware was elastic and roomy. If even that made him uncomfortable…
Soon after Shane asks to leave, face flushed and breathing a little too labored. After clearing the bill and back in the car, he keeps rubbing his belly, almost groaning, even after putting on the seatbelt and Ilya has started the trek back home.
Ilya has to resist not to pull over and help rub Shane's ache away, ease the way the seat belt digs against his round abdomen. He doesn't do this, but he does rest his right hand on Shane's lower belly, right under Shane's working hands. The same way he's done dozens of times, in any of Shane's pregnancies.
But Shane's hand grabs Ilya's and moves it up and up, until it's resting on the hard top of his stomach, stuffed after dinner.
“Feel, it's so tight,” Shane sighs. Ilya rubs, testing its give, realizing that it is tight. Shane sighs, contentedly, still breathless.
“Do you think it's all from our dinner?” Ilya asks reflexively, pressing the pad of his fingers gently against Shane's strained dress shirt. “Or you have some air in there, too?”
Shane shakes his head a little, clearly struggling to steady his breathing. There's still that pinch in his brow, his stomach must be hurting.
“I don't know. I ate a lot. I shouldn't have, but I was just so hungry–”
“You did amazing,” Ilya cut him off. “Feeding yourself so well. You didn't leave a single crumb, my love.”
Shane's face flushes at the praise, with a small, pleased smile pulling at his lips.
"Very well, eating everything they brought for you."
Shane's eyebrows do that small, tiny twitch -almost imperceptible if Ilya weren't, again, absolutely obsessed with anything Shane's face can do- that he does when he's aroused.
Ilya will file that for later. Right now, he has a poor, taxed tummy to soothe.
He sets his hand to work more diligently, and Shane moans quietly when Ilya presses on, insistently and not with as much gentleness as Shane has been doing. Ilya's stirred by the urge to prod and push and see just how much, how packed Shane's stomach truly is, how much is food, how much is just trapped air. His eyes barely leave the road, only throwing a few glances back at Shane, who only lets out some clearly frustrating small, trapped puffs of air. Not nearly close to what he needs, so Ilya works with renewed effort when they reach a red light.
He properly looks at Shane, his flushed, chubbier cheeks, his plump lips open as he nearly pants to catch his breath.
(He looks undone and it suits him so, so well.)
Ilya keeps pressing, at the top, the sides, with hard rubs against it, sure that he can help Shane release some pressure. Almost vibrating with the need to get it through.
Shane rests his head back against his seat, closing his eyes and groaning.
“Yes, right there…” he says, voice soft and pliant. Ilya has to will his dick down, pavloved into waking up. “Hm, Ilya.” Oh, fuck.
A loud car horn makes him look back at the now green light. For fuck’s sake. Back again at blindly rubbing around, Ilya still gets blessed with tiny groans and Shane's heavy breathing.
After a particularly hard push against his tight side, Shane's hand flies to cover his own mouth, right before he releases a rich belch, the sort that Ilya knows feels amazing and relieving and even hurts a little. Shane flushes bright red while Ilya lets out a loud laugh.
“There it is, sweetheart!”
“Shut up.” Shane rubs at his chest, knowing him, probably embarrassed at having to get burped, not unlike a baby. He does seem less uncomfortably full though, he now draws in a fuller breath.
“Do you feel better now?” Ilya asks, rubbing a few more seconds, this time gentle and nice, before pulling his hand away and bringing it up to Shane's flushed cheek.
Shane nods. He seems to want to say something else, and Ilya patiently waits, knowing that eventually Shane will probably ask something. Probably a request. Because he's never not demanding for something (Ilya wouldn't have it any other way).
“Can you… can you do that again? It felt... good.”
Shane's timidly asking if Ilya can help him burp as if he hasn't already seen Shane get his ass beat by pregnancy more than once, sweaty and tired, then bloody and pained. Or catch a nasty, gross bug from Ilya himself after taking care of him. Or...
As if Ilya hasn't seen parts of him that Shane considers embarrassing beyond measure but Ilya treasures as the form of intimacy and trust that they are. Ilya isn't sure there's anything Shane needs him for that Ilya would say no to.
He's not going to say all that right now, though. It doesn't fit the mood.
The whole thing happens again, several weeks later. Then a week after that. Then a few days after that. Then it becomes a little routine to help Shane at the end of the day, even if he's not stuffed enough to need Ilya's help. It's nice to sit together and give Shane's tummy some attention outside of talking to their baby.
When he actually overfeeds himself (or Ilya accidentally overfeeds Shane, because sometimes things happen and nice husbands cook too much and oh no, all this food...) Ilya helps him through it, sometimes it leads to something else. None of them truly addresses it, when Shane's clearly aroused as Ilya's hands rub on his full stomach, or how Ilya's erection presses against Shane's thick thigh, with the way he almost sits on his lap, his face hidden in Shane's softer neck and his hands rubbing and feeling how full he is...
But what can Ilya do but help? He's not going to tell Shane to stop. He doesn't want him to, either.
i did a quick drawing of ilya's hand on shane's belly in the car but i don't like how it looks yet and i have to continue homework now;( i'll go back to it after my exam though:)!!
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